


The Doe in the Library

by ISH



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Books, F/M, Mystery, Possession, Potions, Romance, hgss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:31:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISH/pseuds/ISH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger takes some time out between jobs, and goes on holiday to get away after her less than amicable divorce from Ron Weasley. Where does she go? Why, a library, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly DH compliant, to the extent of Hermione's knowledge at least, and mostly epilogue compliant (minus the kids). 
> 
> Characters, settings and concepts belonging to JK Rowling and associates are not mine, and I do not make any money from this work.
> 
> The rating is for later chapters - Something to look forward to perhaps.

Hermoine Granger stepped off the train, savouring the cold, crisp highland air. It nipped at her cheeks, and tugged at her sleepy limbs as she stretched. It had been a long journey, and although she would have much preferred to apparate to her destination, she had appreciated the down time and the lull of the train beating against the tracks.

Handbag in hand, she made her way through the old station building to the other side where her escort was to meet her. While she understood the need for secrecy, she was somewhat annoyed that they hadn’t agreed to provide her with apparition coordinates, or at least a portkey, however flattering it was that they thought her capable of breaking their protection charms and tracing it. She was a ministry official, and a regular visitor, after all, even if her visit this time was strictly recreational. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth at the thought - who else would go to a library for their holidays?

An old fashioned black cab spluttered to a halt in front of the station building just as she exited.

“To the library?” asked the driver. She nodded once and got in.

The landscape passed in silence, all white peaks and grey valleys. When the driver spoke again, she could not tell how far they had gone, or for how long she had been watching the monochrome scenery pass by. They were entering the small village she’d become so familiar with over the years.

“Will I take you to your accommodation, or would you like to see brother Striges right away?” Although she had never met the man behind the wheel before, he had, it seemed, been informed of her habits. Had she been visiting in official capacity, she would indeed have wanted to see the curator at the first possible opportunity. Today, however, she was in no hurry.

“Take me to the hotel, please.” she said, longing for the luxurious bathroom that awaited her there.

It was, mostly, a muggle hotel that served host to hillwalkers and skiers, as well as the occasional romantic couple, and it was almost always full. Hermione could certainly see how the secluded location, combined with the views and the excellent rooms were so popular. The part of the hotel that was for magic folk was cleverly integrated into the muggle part, sharing corridors and doorways that led to entirely different places depending on your ability to wield a wand. She had admired the spellwork in the place many times, and it still made her smile, thinking that the shed that held the muggle guests’ skiing equipment was the entrance to an exquisite, magical bath house.

It was a luxury resort for wizards and muggles alike, but most of her own visits had been strictly business; ministry business. Just outside the little village lay Bibliotheca Artis Magicae, perhaps the single most extensive library in all of wizarding Britain, if not Europe - an invaluable resource for anyone with an inclination towards the academic, and to Hermione in particular. The library contained works that predated the era of human majority within the magical world, some of which had proven crucial to her work towards interspecies equality, referred to in her own head as the Great Struggle. The work she had started was far from finished, and it had pained her to leave her position at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but it had been time to move on in more ways than one. Her colleagues were more than capable to continue on their own now, and she recognised that her own efforts would go further if focused elsewhere.

She had just been offered a position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that she would have been crazy to decline. So she had accepted, on the condition that her starting date was delayed by a month to allow her to take some long overdue time off. At the same time her life had taken a new, if not entirely unexpected turn, making said time off even more crucial.

When arranging her trip to the library, without the aid of her secretary at the Ministry for the first time, she’d tried finding the hotel with both magical and muggle means, but failed each time. After a few hours of searching she’d accepted that the library’s concealment charms were too old, and too strong for her, and resigned herself to contacting the curator of the library, Brother Striges, by owl to make arrangements for her visit. She’d scoffed at the fact that an owl was privy to information that she had been refused. He’d explained to her in his reply that anyone looking for the hotel with the intent of finding the library would invariably fail, due to the way the concealment charms worked. She had marvelled at how cleverly designed they were, and tried looking once more, thinking only of how much she would like to go skiing while doing so, but to no avail.

Glancing around the lobby now, she observed the winter revelers go about their business, clearly not academic in nature, satisfied with the explanation she’d been given for their presence.

The clerk, a lively witch named Mina, recognised her as she approached.

“Mrs Weasley, how may I help you today?” Hermione cringed as she heard her married name.

“It’s Miss Granger now, Mina,” she said, rubbing the soft skin where her wedding band had been only days earlier. If anyone would care to look, the skin where it had been was still lighter than the rest of her hand. The young clerk looked mortified, and started fidgeting with the ledger.

“Oh, eh... I’m terribly sorry, eh... Miss Granger I--” Hermione interrupted her with a smile.

“It’s all right, you couldn’t have known.” And there was no need to be sorry either, she thought to herself. “I’d like to check in to my room, please.”

“Oh yes, of course. Let me see.” She rifled through the ledger, and produced a set of keys from below the counter. “You’re in room 106, it’s got a spectacular view of the hills. It’s just down the corridor to your left.” She was beaming again. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, Mina, thank you very much.”

Having deposited her handbag on the bed, she toed her shoes off and let her feet enjoy the heated bathroom floor. The bathtub deserved nothing less than to be filled. She found a bottle of bubble bath on a shelf above the towel rack, and turned the taps on.

Hair pinned to the top of her head, she tested the water with her hand, but when she stuck her toes in, it was far too hot. She added it to the list of things she would never learn, along with quidditch and divination. She persevered, inching her foot in, then her calf, and when she was able to stand, one legged, in the bath, she repeated the procedure with her other leg. Now came the hard part. She lowered herself down on one knee, and let the other one follow. Her skin tingled and burned as the water edged along her thighs, and she emitted a small hissing sound when it touched her buttocks. She sucked her stomach in as she sat down, as if the water would stay where it was when she did. Slowly, she leant back and settled her head against the foam cushion attached to the edge of the bath. A content ‘Mmmm...’ brushed past her lips. Her arms had not yet touched the water. Reaching over the edge, she snatched her wand from her discarded trousers.

“Accio mobile”, she said. The phone came flying into her hand. Her parents had convinced her to get a mobile phone. They hadn’t been comfortable with owls and floo calls since she retrieved them from Australia, and although they had been happy to be back, to have their daughter back, they mistrusted her magic, and she could tell that it frightened them. So she had bought a mobile phone. This one was her third. She was comfortable with it now, and as she cast a gentle Sonorous charm over it, she reveled in the fact that she could carry muggle music with her so easily.

When her playlist, a selection of Beethoven’s sonatas, came to an end forty five minutes later, the bubbles had all but disappeared, and she could see herself through the cloudy water. She rose, and the bathroom air felt cold against her skin, even though she knew that it wasn’t.

She wrapped herself in a thick towel that reached halfway down her calves, and fetched clean underthings from her bag. Sunlight no longer graced the hills outside her window, so she closed the curtains while she dressed. It was almost time for an early dinner, and an early rest. The day’s travelling, no matter how comfortable, had sapped her energy, and she wanted to be at the library first thing the next morning.

********* **

She was awake before the sun came up, and was heading out of the lobby an hour later. Breakfast had been delicious, the coffee was always just the way she liked it, and she could never get enough of the thick greek yoghurt, draped over a wonderful selection of fresh fruit. She had declined Mina’s offer to call a taxi for her. Encouraged by the rising sun, she walked the narrow road to the library with quick strides.

The building was ancient, but stood tall behind the thick walls that surrounded the courtyard. It was a year since she’d last seen it. The wrought iron inscription that stood atop the gate was black and spindly, and had fallen apart to such a degree that Hermione could no longer make out what it said. The gate let her pass nonetheless, so she hurried through the gardens, dormant beneath a blanket of snow.

The scent of the library embraced her, and she realised how much she’d been longing to get lost in the labyrinth that it was. She ascended the last few steps into the grand entrance hall, and was greeted by a familiar voice.

“Mrs Weasley! There you are, my dear. I was wondering when you would arrive.” The old monk came towards her with open arms. She met his embrace and decided she would tell him about the divorce at a later time. It had been awkward enough correcting Mina, and she was certain Brother Striges would have a more traditional view on the matter.

“Brother Striges, it’s lovely to see you again,” she said. And it was. She liked the old man, and admired his dedication to the library. “How goes the cataloguing? Last time I was here you had just finished the section on arachnids,”

“Finished is such a strong word, Mrs Weasley.” She was itching to correct him. “Since you were here last, the arachnid section has been expanded twice, and I’ve had the good fortune of welcoming a new archivist to my staff”. Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. In the ten years she had known Brother Striges, he had turned away hundreds of applicants. To say that his requirements were strict was a grave understatement.

“I’m intrigued,” she said.

“Why don’t you join me for a cup of tea?” he asked.

They sat down in the quiet dining hall. Breakfast was long since over, and lunch service had not yet begun. The room was spartan, but beautiful in an old way, just like the rest of the building.

“So, Mrs Weasley--” This time she interrupted him. Footsteps in the corridor they had just left came to a stop.

“It’s...” she hesitated. “Brother Striges, it’s Granger now. Miss Granger.”

“Oh, Hermione.” She smiled at him. She’d been asking him for years to use her given name. “You should have told me in your letter.” Hermione sighed.

“At the time of writing I was still wearing my wedding band.” She found that she didn’t want to discuss her broken marriage further, even with an old friend.

“Sweet girl, I’m so sorry. If there is anything I can do...”

“No, it’s alright, really.” Under the table she was rubbing her ring finger so hard the friction made it burn a little. “It was a long time coming. If it’s alright with you, I’d much rather hear about the library.” The footsteps in the corridor resumed, and faded as they continued their path into the distance.

********* **

She was on her second cup of tea when she finally remembered to ask about the new archivist.

“So you finally found someone worthy of assisting you with the cataloguing,” she said.

“Oh, yes, Brother Doe. It was most fortunate.” She could tell he was pleased. “When he first came here, unannounced I might add, I turned him away.”

“What do you mean ‘unannounced’?”

“He made his own way here,” said the monk.

“And what of the wards, and the concealment charms?”

“He will not tell me.” Hermione was about to question the old monk, but he continued his story. “I turned him away the next day as well, and the next, and every day for a month.”

“But he came back?”

“He came back.”

“What did he want?”

“Work.”

“Work?”

“He seemed content with anything I put him up to. I had him tending the gardens, serving in the kitchen, doing repairs. Every night I told him to go away and not come back, but every morning he was here at dawn, ready to do whatever I asked. After two months I gave him a room. He was far from frivolous with his words, but there was no doubt in my mind that he possessed a strong intellect. So I set him to work in the library, something I am yet to regret, if I ever will”.

“How can you be sure?” She did not know if the gnawing feeling that had taken up residence at the base of her neck was towards Brother Doe, or if it was a remnant from their conversation about her non-marriage.

“Suspicion does not become you, Hermione. What is the matter?” He reminded her of Dumbledore then, and she decided to suspend her disbelief - for the moment.

“It’s nothing. Please continue.”

“There is not much more to tell. Brother Doe is still a young wizard by most standards. He’s strong in mind and magic, and my dear, I daresay his love of old tomes rivals even yours.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Hermione, as if taking him up on a challenge. “When can I meet him?”

“He is quite elusive, I am afraid. Spends most of his time in the lower levels of the library, but perhaps that is where your research will take you.”

“Perhaps it will.” She wasn’t convinced telling Brother Striges the nature of the research she had planned was something she wanted to do, so she kept it professional. “I’m starting a new position within the ministry when my holiday comes to an end, and I thought I might as well do some research to prepare.”

“Ever the working bee Mrs.. Miss Granger. May I escort you to your destination? ”

“I fear I might get lost otherwise.” She gathered her coat and handbag and stood up. “I’d like to start with any texts, dating as far back as possible, that you have on wizarding marriage law and tradition, especially concerning child rearing.” That was believable, she thought.

“I do not envy the work you have taken upon yourself to do”. She smiled and gestured for him to lead the way.

“Shall we?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

# 2.

Brother Striges’ footsteps died out in the distance, and Hermione was left on her own in a shelf clad room three stairs below ground. The plaque above the door described the subject matter of the books waiting for her on the shelves quite succinctly - Wizarding Family Law. Each shelf was divided into subcategories, and each category was sorted alphabetically by author.

And yet, Hermione couldn’t find what she was looking for. Brother Striges had taken her exactly where she asked him to, but she had lied to him. If she’d told him that she wanted to find out more about fertility spells, and magical enhancements used to ensure the conception of an heir used by old wizarding families, he would surely have asked more questions. Specifically she wanted to find out how such spells interacted with modern birth control, both magical and muggle, and she had no wish to explain why that was to the old monk.

Within half an hour of entering the room, she had determined that its contents were of no use to her. Determined to find what she was looking for, she moved on to the next - Domestic Spellwork.

***

She had found out she was pregnant on the day she miscarried.

***

With a small pile of books in tow, she left Domestic Spellwork, and moved on down the corridor. She noted a reading room on her right, and continued into Household Healing. She thanked Brother Striges and his new archivist for the filing system as she exited not long after, levitating a pile of books that was at least as tall as she was.

In the reading room, she deposited the books on one of the desks, and arranged them by how likely she thought they were to contain anything useful. She would start at the very bottom and work her way up, hoping to rule out as many books as possible as fast as possible, so she could focus her attention where it would be the most useful.

***

She hadn’t told Ron about the contraceptives before, and he, she found out, hadn’t told her about the fertility magic he’d been practicing. They were both hurt, but she clung to the fact that her lies had never endangered him.

***

The pile of books shrunk at a steady pace, and Hermione’s patience along with it. She had spent most of the day, as far as she could tell without any daylight to guide her, in the reading room. A house elf had brought her lunch just as her belly started rumbling, a rich vegetable broth and two delicious sandwiches, before she had even thought of asking for it. Every so often she could hear footsteps passing by, and sometimes the wheels of a book cart on the uneven granite floor slabs.

She had narrowed her pile down to four books, the others lying on the surrounding desks in a questionably organised chaos. Some had bits of parchment stuck in between their pages, others were spread open, not yet  having received a verdict on their usefulness. She paused then, and looked around the room. She had agreed with Brother Striges that she could leave the books in the reading room overnight, and use it as her office for as long as she needed, something for which she was immensely  grateful. Taking the books out of the library was out of the question, and there was no way she was going to be able to organise her mess in such a way that she could put the books back in their place before the end of the day.

Rubbing her eyes, she let herself lean back into the chair. Her hands moved into her hair, which had gone everywhere. Stretching, she attempted to gather it at the base of her neck. A quick twist that had been performed thousands of times before trapped it all in one place, but as soon as she let go, rogue strands made their break for freedom.

***

She had been taken to St. Mungo’s, and a healer had explained to her what had happened when she woke up, when it was all over. She’d asked how it had even been possible for her to conceive. She was using birth control. They had told her that contraceptives sometimes fail, and sent her home with aftercare instructions and a list of potions to be picked up from the apothecary.

***

She rose and started gathering the books she definitely wouldn’t need to come back to, to put them back in their place. She was tired and hungry, and she couldn’t wait to return to a nice meal, the soft embrace of her bed, and then a hot cup of tea while she sorted through the day’s notes, knowing that she would probably fall asleep half sitting amongst a flurry of parchment, only to wake up in the middle of the night with a sore neck and ink on her face.

***

She had moved out of the flat her and Ron rented in London the next day, and filed for divorce within a week. Irreconcilable differences, the divorce papers said. Ron had pleaded with her, said that all he wanted was a family, was that so bad? She explained to him in no uncertain terms, through her attorney, that such wishes gave him no right to play God with her body. He had refused to speak to her after that. She had demanded to know what spells he had used, but was met with silence. The diagnostic spells she was able to cast on herself came up with nothing, and she had resigned herself to not knowing, that the whole thing was over, until the cramps and the headaches started.

***

She returned to the reading room to find a tall, skinny figure muttering to himself in the midst for the mess she had turned the space into.

“Messy woman.” He continued mumbling, his back towards the entrance, about her lack of organisation as he put her empty bowl of soup and plate on his cart, and proceeded to arrange the books on a single desk, as opposed to the four that Hermione had elected. She cleared her throat.

“I had a system going there. If you would be so kind as to leave it the way it is just now, I’ll make sure it’s as neat as possible before I go.”

“You can’t just leave it here.” He turned towards her as he continued to lecture her, an all too familiar figure emerging as he did so. “This all needs to be put back--” He paused and looked at her. She quickly closed her gaping mouth and took a deep breath. Maybe he didn’t recognise her. “Are you quite alright?”

“I... Yes. You look familiar is all”. He didn’t react. She didn’t expect him to. But she wasn’t alright at all. Her handbag fell to the floor as an ungodly cramp brought her to her knees.

The man she was certain was Severus Snape let go of the book he was holding and swept to her side. Long fingers grasped her shoulder, steadied her, another hand pressed against her forehead. Cold sweat was seeping through her pores, sticking her hair to her neck. She was clutching her stomach, and if it wasn’t for the steadying hand on her shoulder she would be folded double on the cold stone floor.

“Cramp”, she managed to force past her clenched jaw. “It’ll pass... soon.”

“Try to breathe deeply.” He wasn’t helping. Although it was a change to see this man displaying any sort of helpfulness at all. The pain must be making me bitter, she thought. Even so, her nostrils flared as she made an effort to breathe slowly, in through her nose, out through her mouth, like her yoga teacher had instructed when she’d tried it years ago, or Merlin forbid, like she was giving birth. The very thought made her snort, although it wasn’t the first time it had crossed her mind.

“In my handbag. Painkiller.” She relaxed as the cramp settled a fraction. The hand left her shoulder, and she could her the zip of her bag being pulled open. There was rustling and sighing, and then defeat.

“They’re not here.”

“Muggle packet. White box, pills.” Her words came in sharp bursts, much like the pain. She could hear him hesitating, silently questioning her. “It’s. The only. Thing. That helps.” A loud groan escaped her. It was getting worse again. Two pills were thrust into her hand and she practically threw them back. But they seemed to grow in her mouth, becoming impossible to swallow. “Water”, she gasped, feeling the world turning sideways, closing her out. The pain remained for a moment, and then that too left her.


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone for the lovely comments! I'm absolutely thrilled that you like the story so far, and hope you'll stick with it in spite of the long periods of time between my updates. 
> 
> <3

The noises produced by the world around her pierced her sleep before she could open her eyes, let alone move. She knew better than to try. Her state was similar to the sleep apnea she had suffered from as a child, except the oppressive terror it had invoked in her was absent. It bore no resemblance to being petrified by the Basilisk either. That had been cold and dark, and not nearly as comfortable as this. If she just stayed calm and relaxed, it would pass.

There was the noise that dungeons made; an almost silent draft and the distant sound of trickling water, but there were other noises too. She trained her ears on her immediate surroundings and could hear breathing, the sound of pages turning, bubbling. Judging by the smell, it wasn’t something edible that was cooking. She lay there for the longest time, although she didn’t know how long that was, imagining she was back at Hogwarts. It had been a long time. Perhaps she was in Professor Snape’s office, although what she would be doing sleeping on his sofa she didn’t know. Did he even have a sofa? Do dead men have furniture? She found that she didn’t particularly care.

 _Just breathe_ , she thought to herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that not all of her Hogwarts fantasy was just that.

The first of her body parts to be released from petrification were her toes. She wiggled them to her heart’s content inside her boots, and found that the effect was like wildfire. Her eyelids started fluttering of their own volition and her eyes were open, just like that, blinking at the ceiling in dull lamp light. She managed a deep, long breath through her nose, allowing the dank air to fill her lungs. It left the same way it came in, and as it did, Hermione’s head fell to the side, her chin coming to rest on her shoulder.

For a moment too long, she lingered in her imaginary Hogwarts and allowed her tongue to slip.

“Professor?”

All she could do was widen her eyes as he narrowed his, and try to remain in the little calm that still enveloped her. She still couldn’t move her arms or legs, after all, and figured she would fail to achieve much of anything even if she were to get worked up.

The man in the armchair on the other side of the room, the man that held one of her books as if he had been in the middle of reading it, the man that had once been her professor relaxed only a fraction before speaking.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was flat and controlled. He had let the book he was reading fall to his lap, although one hand was still gripping it by the spine, while the other was holding on to the arm of the chair, knuckles not quite white, fingernails not quite digging into the worn leather.

“I...” Her voice got stuck in her throat. The Professor rose from his chair and approached her with a glass of water. A bony hand managed to avoid getting tangled in her hair and lifted her head up. The glass felt blissfully cool against her lips. To her great displeasure it was Ron’s voice that piped up inside her head to tell her that the water might be poisoned. She pushed him away and decided that if Snape wanted to kill her, he’d had ample opportunity already.

“Thank you. I feel much better,” she said.

“Can you sit up?” he asked, his hand still at her neck.

“I don’t know. I feel heavy. I can’t move my legs. Or my arms.” To her surprise, he put the glass on the floor next to the sofa, slid his other arm under her knees and helped her sit up. Her own arms still felt like a pair of dead fish, so she contented herself with gently tilting her head from side to side, keeping her hands in her lap. He sat down at the other end of the sofa, looking at her with something Hermione could only describe as suspicion, but perhaps it was curiosity.

“Care to tell me what happened?”

She was about to do just that when it occurred to her that his story must be far more interesting. He had survived when everyone thought him lost. She had just had a divorce. They had built a memorial at Hogwarts in his honor. She wondered if he knew.

“Care to tell me how you aren’t dead?” Blunt, but to the point. She knew she should be asking what he’d given her to stop the pain, to knock her out, and why she was unable to move, but there was a challenge in his voice, and finding out a bigger truth took precedence over minor ones.

“No. Why are you here?”

“I come here at least once a year for work. How did you get out of the Shrieking Shack after the battle?”

“I walked. The books you were reading didn’t look like Ministry business. Why are you here?”

“They’re none of your business either. You were unconscious. We all thought you had died. How could you walk?”

“One foot in front of the other, Miss Granger.” He had the audacity to smirk. If she had been able to move her arms she would have slapped him. “So the books are personal then. Why are you here?”

“Why are _you_ here?” She wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. Snape was getting far more information out of her than she was from him.

“Here I thought we were exchanging information, Miss Granger. Answer my question and I _may_ answer yours.” She didn’t believe he would, but he might be able to help her. She was getting nowhere on her own. Looking back at the afternoon’s events, she was painfully aware, quite literally, that his help would not be unwelcome. She sighed. She could move her hands now, and did so as she spoke.

“I am here to find the solution to a problem I have. And it is a personal one, as you have already guessed. Why are you here?”

“Likewise, Miss Granger.” He paused.

“And is it personal?” she asked.

“One question at a time. I haven’t asked mine yet.” She hummed at him from behind a stray lock of hair. Her still-limp arms prevented her from moving it. She blew at it as best she could, but it would take more than huffing and puffing to keep it off her face. Snape looked like he was about to do it for her, but restrained himself.

“Go on then,” she said. She didn't know whether she was referring to her hair or his question.

“Tell me about this problem of yours.”

“That’s not a question.” Smug was the only way to describe the expression that graced her face then. Snape, stone faced and black eyed, did not bat an eyelid.

“Can you tell me what caused you to pass out from what looked like quite considerable pain in my library?”

 _Your library?_ she thought, letting out a huff before answering.

“I can.” When he just looked at her, without raising to her bait, she quietly agreed to continue. She was still tired. She could stall him for a while more, but it wouldn’t do her any good. The prospect of telling someone about her situation made her restless. She felt an urge to pace, still felt too heavy and it made her skin crawl. Her mum had had restless leg syndrome, sometimes not being able to sit still for more than half an hour at a time, and she imagined this was what it must feel like.

She hadn’t even told Harry about it all yet, even though he wouldn’t judge her. He was difficult to get a hold of these days. In reality though, he was only an owl away. He might not reply immediately, or at all, but he would keep her secret. She looked down at her hands, and then back up at Snape who was waiting.

“I...”, she began. “I never wanted children.” _Raise your eyebrow all you want, Snape, you don’t know a thing about me._ “But I was married to Ronald Weasley. I take it I don’t need to elaborate?” The look on his face told her that, no, she didn’t. “I took precautions, both magical and muggle. Ron didn’t know about either, and decided in his petty little mind to perform some sort of fertility ritual behind my back.” She was getting worked up. _And rightly so_ , she reminded herself. Her arms were no longer dead fish.

“Before you ask - I don’t know which ritual he used, but I will bet my right arm that his _mother_ had a hand in it.” His smirk told her before he spoke what he was about to say. “Yes, Professor, I know I could just raise my left arm if I ever had any questions.” The smirk didn’t quite go away, but he didn’t speak.

“None of them will speak to me now, especially not Ron or his mother. Needless to say, I got a divorce the moment I found out what he’d done.” She couldn’t resist the urge to make sure that her wedding band was still gone. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. I actually did get pregnant.”

“The ritual would override whatever potions you were taking.” Matter of fact permeated his voice.

“Yes, I am aware of that, but it didn’t do so well with the muggle contraception. I miscarried. Normally that would have been impossible if it was the type of ritual I think it was.” He stayed silent. His indifference, feigned or not, was refreshing. She could not have continued through wet sympathy or reassuring embraces. The wounds were too raw.

“St. Mungo’s sent me home after just a couple of days, telling me that accidents do happen and people that don’t plan to get pregnant all the time. Naturally, I didn’t believe them. I was too thorough for accidents.” Snape raised an eyebrow. Hermione considered indulging him, and decided to elaborate. “I had done my research. There was not a sliver of a chance of me getting pregnant without _help_. So I questioned Ron. We’d argued about children so many times.” She looked down and considered her words.

“You ‘questioned’ him?” Was that amusement?

“I shouted at him until I had almost lost my voice, and after about an hour of attempting to dodge most of our china, he told me what he’d done. Then he left. I moved out the next day and filed for divorce the day after that. He realised fairly quickly that I wasn’t going to come back to him, and the only contact we’ve had since is through our attorneys.”

“When did you make a connection between your current predicament and this ritual?”

“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”

Silence.

She didn’t expect to get an answer anywhere close in length or content to the one she had given. Giving up, however, was not something that she did. Her arms now functional, she brushed the hair out of her face, collected it at the nape of her neck and gave it a twist. Repeating her previous questions would result in repeated answers. She had to find another way that didn’t allow for loopholes.

The wording was crucial, and to word her question effectively she had to know what she wanted to know. _That was the crux, wasn’t it?_ There were so many mysteries about the man sitting in front of her, the most obvious one being how he survived, but there were other questions as well. How had he found the library without being invited? Who had helped him survive? Someone must have. Unless you are Voldemort, you do not escape death unaided. And why? So many whys. She considered the possibility that Snape might not know all of it. Or that he knew the how but not the why, or the other way around. Had he taken precautions before the battle? But that meant he’d had an inkling of things to come. The cure for Nagini’s bite was very specific, and if he did, how--

Snape cleared his throat, extracting her from her rambling analysis. She took ample time choosing her words and asked.

“Truthfully and to the best of your knowledge, what steps were taken to enable you to walk, one foot in front of the other, as you put it, out of the Shrieking Shack?”

Snape sighed, his expression tired and exasperated at the same time.

“I can’t tell you that.” Hermione made to object, her right hand rising as she drew breath to explain just why he _could_. It was a habit she would love to be rid of, and one that was hardly useful outside of school, not to mention unsuitable for a woman of almost thirty. But he interrupted her.

“Listen to me, Miss Granger.” His eyes bore into her. “I _cannot_ tell you that.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Can’t.” His jaw was tense and he was gripping the arm of the chair, hand like a claw and knuckles white. His breathing was laboured and his eyes narrow. It was hard for him to tell her even this much, she realised.

“Physically unable?”

A nod, strained and quick.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_ , indeed. You may ask me something else.” He seemed to relax.

“Why are you here?” she said without hesitation or analysis.

“As opposed to where?”

“As opposed to anywhere.”

“They don’t care who I am here, only that I have the Library’s best interests at heart.”

“Brother Striges seems to trust you.” _But I still don’t_ , Hermione thought.

“I have given him no reason not to.” He looked at her as if to scold her, but ran his hand through his hair and released a breath through his sizable nose. “I came here because I _thought_ I’d be left in peace to research my condition. I help Brother Striges with his mission and in return I get unrestricted access to the library archives.”

“I don’t think Brother Striges realises what he’s agreed to.”

“He realises more than you give him credit for, Miss Granger.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“He has some idea of my predicament, yes.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Seeing as that’s your fifth question in a row, I didn’t have to answer it at all.” He was right, of course. The game was getting tiresome, and Hermione was tired as well. Frustrated, she wondered to herself why they could not just talk like normal adults.

“Look,” she said. “I’m quite happy to tell you what you want to know about my condition and my reasons for being here. In fact, I could probably use a second opinion.” Elbows on knees, she leaned her head in her hands, letting her hair fall forward again. She was so tired. She didn’t know what part of the library she was in, or what time it was.

“It’s getting late Miss Granger. You should go back to your hotel.” She tried to disguise her yawn. “I am not going anywhere, and should you wish a second opinion on your research, Brother Striges will know where to find me.” He looked tired too. “Can you walk?”

She wanted to protest, wanted to know more, tie him to a chair and question him with veritaserum, but she let out a second, wide mouthed yawn instead and stood, one hand on the arm of the sofa for support. _Walk_ , she thought. _One foot in front of the other, Miss Granger._ The words made her snort, but she followed the advice and took one tentative step away from the sofa. She swayed, but caught her balance unaided.

“I think so.”


End file.
